


Giving In

by franciumgold



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 13:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15144434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franciumgold/pseuds/franciumgold
Summary: The sharp pain that seems to radiate through her and makes her want to vomit sloughs off, in waves. Her breathing is so shallow. Alythae Wildsong feels like once in her life she is giving in, and what a thing to give in on.





	Giving In

**Author's Note:**

> A technically non-canon oneshot of my Night Elf OC Alythae Wildsong, her sister, and features my friend's Worgen OC Grim.  
> Thanks for all the help, Grim ;)  
> Enjoy!

“Needless to say; that was not the best idea,”

“…I know, I’m sorry,”

 

     Alythae wrinkles her nose up, her entire face scrunches in discomfort as she tries to catch her breath. She tries to press the palm of her hand against her side and apply pressure, but the sticky, wet substance continues to leak through her fingers. Grim was right. Elune, why was he always right? A heavy sigh falls from her lips and seems to grow on the floor to take up the entire space between them. She does not yet open her eyes after the initial shock and numbness, but she feels Grim move towards her, and could hear his graceful footfalls.

     “Don’t,” she whispers, her voice tiny and aching, almost child-like. The first wave of pain crashed through her and caused her to lurch forward and gag.  _ Oh, there you are. _  She was waiting for the intensity to kick in, finally, as the adrenaline stops pumping and the unfeeling ceases. Grim stops in his tracks—but he’s already close enough. Aly’s natural eye begins to water, and she struggles to open them. Her vision has gone hazy—a dizzying effect which she is unable to tell whether it was caused by the wounds she sustained or the disconnect between her prosthetic and her natural eye. She has not yet processed exactly what occurred.

     “Aly, I need to—” He reaches out for her again, his voice shaking ever so slightly. He knows how bad this looks. How bad she looks. This is too much for him to fix. “I can find someone, better, better than me—” He began, and she murmurs a gasping: “Stop,” in response. Finally, he grabs hold of her—and even though it aches, aches, aches she weakly grasps onto him too. The sharp pain that seems to radiate through her and makes her want to vomit sloughs off, in waves. Her breathing is so shallow. Alythae Wildsong feels like once in her life she is giving in, and what a thing to give in on. It feels like she is diving off a cliff, falling then plunging into the depths of icy blue water, but there is something comforting rather than exhilarating as she feels herself slip.

     When the Kaldorei comes to, she’s panting hard, and through her blurry vision she can see her breath in front of her face, foggy clouds forming.  _ Cold? _ She wonders to herself, reaching out. The smell hits her first. Sickly sweet, delicious, rich unmistakable chocolate cupcakes. Her mouth waters, and she parts her lips as if she could taste one. A soft, familiar giggle could be heard from nearby, like a wind chime tinkling, and Aly jerks her head in the direction of whence it came.

 

“Calyssa?”

“It’s nice to see you, sister. I’ve missed you dearly.”

“Where am I?”

“We’re home. Can’t you see?”

 

     As soon as Calyssa stated that, Aly’s eyesight unblurred—everything is so bright, almost blindingly so. She wants to close her eyes but cannot. Everything is being drawn out in front of her, fading in and unsure like waking up from a long nap. She is home. But where is she? Finally, it hit her as the entire picture is filled in, her eyes processing the fact that she is inside the one room cottage she grew up in. Everything is the exact same as she remembers from when she was a little girl. She sits on the four-post bed she shared with her sister, created from the wood that grew around the home.

     “Why am I here?” Alythae asks, somewhat unnerved by her sister’s presence. She has been dead for two years now. “I wanted you to be here. For us to be here. We need to talk. I wish we got to talk before my accident.” Calyssa steps close, guiding Aly off the bed and to peer into their mother’s standing looking glass. The last time she recalls seeing this piece, the reflective surface was in jagged parts on the floor. Now, though, she saw them both. They look more alike than she could recall in her memory. “Do you see now?” her sister asks, her eyes warm as she gazed at Aly. They both carried the same high cheekbones, the same heart-shaped face shape, their hair in equal-length ringlets. “What do you mean?” Alythae asks, her head feeling full of clouds.

     “You have my destiny now. What I should have had. Should have been. Everything is lined up for you now, Alythae.” Calyssa’s spindly fingers rest on Aly’s shoulder. “You have always been the stronger one between us. Not just physically, but mentally. I am sorry if you feel I betrayed you in the past. I lied to you. So many times, I lied to you. It scares me to hear of you reading my journals, finding out exactly who I was. But I understand your curiosity. I was never the best sister. We both learned how to keep up appearances.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

“You do not have to yet. Some things take time.”

“I wish I could—”

“Hush. We must go our separate ways now. And please, be more careful.”

“Good-bye, sister.”

“Everything is worth more than you could ever dream of.”

     Coming to her senses this time feels different. It’s sudden, and fast, and  _ fuck _ , does it hurt. The whole room around her is spinning, spinning, spinning and her entire body feels like she had just marathoned across Kalimdor only to collapse of exhaustion and wake up five days later after finishing. The first thing that she notices (outside of the throbbing pain) is how she is lying down. Her arms are straight against her side, her legs straight out in front of her, yet her head is nearly perfectly propped up in the midst of pillows. She doesn’t dare move in fear of any of the sore-pain quickly becoming a stabbing sensation. Aly looks around to the best of her ability. Something about her vision is still fractured, unwhole, and it makes her slightly nauseous. The only thing she can hear is an accustomed ticking of a clock. “Hello?” She croaks, her voice is rough and even speaking hurts. There’s the gentle sound of feet thudding, a hurried noise. 

 

“You’re awake.”

“Am I?” 

 

     His face appears over her’s, the same softness in his gaze he lends to her time and time again. Apart from that, he looks exhausted and at his wit’s end. It was odd to see Grim out of sorts, when he constantly appeared so put together. “How are you feeling? ”  _ How could she answer that? _ “I’ve been better,” she replies casually. A faint flicker of amusement in his eye, although he’s entirely serious again in a millisecond. His face disappears from her line of view for a moment, before returning with a sudden, sharp pain coming from her toes. “Do you feel--” He begins to ask, before she cuts him off in a sly retort of; “Aren’t I in enough pain already?” His eye narrows perceptively before he moves back up, asking her another question, “Are you able to move your hands?” She grunts a tiny bit at the soreness as she wiggles her fingers and hands to exhibit her ability. Upon the vague motion of her limbs Grim lightly sat on the side of the bed, taking the hand closest. He takes a deep breath, an action he often takes to prepare himself to say something difficult. “I revived you. You died,” he states firmly, objectively, and yet still as a whisper, hoping she would understand when she stared at him in confusion.  

 

“You received over five wounds from that revolver, Aly.”

“You know you would have done the same for me.”

 

     She reaches for him, and he doesn’t argue against her abrupt movement. Sure enough, the pain feels like her insides are splitting, but being held once more is worth the painful stabbing sensation that causes her entire frame to shake. For now, she would keep the moment with her sister and her growing clarity a secret. It isn’t like she knew what to call it, anyway. A visit from a spirit? The afterlife? A dream? A hallucination? 

 

“Please don’t think to do something like that again.”

“Grim, you know better than to assume there was any thinking.”


End file.
